As November fades

and December approaches,

we note plans we haven’t made.

~

Poets have long known,

from Sun Tzu to Robert Burns,

that planning’s over rated!

Sharp spike of rack

flaming razor shard of ice;

most unwelcome forehead guest.

~

Sometimes it’s no fun

to meet manifestations

of the cutting edge.

On this crisp fall day,

let us linger awhile

and not fast-forward to May.

~

Dry crackling leaves

and fresh November breezes

are preferred to springtime sneezes.

Seeking to preserve

National Integrity

he stoops to gassing children.

~

How low can he go

before even the blind can see

the lack of integrity?

It’s been a contest

between bright light and shadow.

Is it always thus?

~

In some darker times

it’s harder to distinguish

dim bulbs from lighter shadows.

So! Crucifixion

is the ivory soap certain

fate for all who confront him?

~

Fox is his soap box

and fiction is what is used

to crucify dissenters.

In the dark of night

A voice calls out, “Who? Who? Who?”

I call back, “Not me. Not me.”

~

Who can argue with

any speaker wise enough

to call from darkness these days?

Shall we gather by

calm waters this Thanksgiving

and await the certain storm?

~

Each year we gather

and each year we are joined by

many thunder birds.

A midweek break in

 the usual routine gives

 us a chance to mend at last.

~

This broken routine,

like a low country levy,

makes way for a different flood.

“Form follows function

modernist architects say.

Does this apply to fashion?

~

As far as fashion 

goes, nothing much is followed,

certainly not form.

As Thanksgiving nears

what advice do you have for

finicky eaters?

~

The world will not end,

contrary to your belief,

if, on your plate, two foods touch.

Feeding the spirit

can satisfy some hungers

no mere food could ever fill.

~

Whether it’s spirit

or body that needs feeding,

we must be awake to act.

What was lost has now

been found, and NO, I am not

speaking of my mind!

~

Perhaps you refer

to those jewels that tyrant fears;

our collective cojones?

“There’s a whole lot of

shaking going on” – could this

be Trump’s new theme song ?

~

Maybe “Fools Like Me”

is the Jerry Lee Lewis

tune he needs his fans to feel!

Another year passes.

Immortality whispers

enticing lies to mortal souls.

~

If only we were

 enticed to be completely

here in mortal dress.

The fortunate few

find real satisfaction in

doing what they have to do.

~

For the rest of us,

our vocational pursuits

fund our real satisfaction.

After traveling

miles in a driving rain,

after-images remain.

~

May fresh images

come to you in restful sleep

now that driving’s done.

Our own Neros are

fiddling while the world

burns. What can we do?

~

Fling open the gates

and embrace the Visigoths

as they rush in to plunder.

Bitter arctic winds

place an exclamation point

upon protracted autumn.

~

And yet we’re warmed by

the spontaneous kindness 

of strangers, family, and friends.

In your poetic

opinion, which nursery rhyme

best describes these times?

~

 “He stuck in his thumb”

seems like the modern model

of ill-gotten gains.

Where, oh where, has my

fellow poet gone? Where, oh

where  can he possibly be?

~

Gone to the city

to prevent the deranged from

committing atrocities…

Fetch Rocinante,

would you, Sancho, my good man?

This windmill needs much tilting!

~

Perhaps if it were

tilted, it wouldn’t go round

in circles and things might change.

Ever hopeful, we

wait and watch. Will folks turn out,

vote sanity in?

~

If we must rely

upon the electorate

we may be disappointed.

That rekindled blaze

in her, once sallowed, spirit

speaks to quality of life.

~

Seeing the return

of vibrancy enlivens

 all who grieved its loss.

Single sentinel

Stiffly stands at attention

Guarding garden greenery

~

Weathered and worn, as

are so many that stand guard,

hoping to protect what’s green

If you knew you could

teach the world to sing, with what

song would you begin?

~

I would teach a song

with a part for everyone

free of integral discord.